Classic Poem

I.

Showers, showers, nought but showers, and it wants a week of May,
Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are hid in the green and the gray;
Green buds and gray shoots cover their sparkling gear,
They stir beneath, they long to burst, for the May is so near, so near, —
While I spin and I spin, and the fingers of the Rain
Fall patter, pitter, patter, on the pane.

II.

Showers, showers, silver showers, murmur and softly sing,
Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are swelling and hearkening;
It wants a week of May, when my love and I will be one,
The flowers will burst, the birds will sing, as we walk to church in the sun.
So patter goes my heart, in a kind of pleasant pain,
To the patter, pitter, patter of the Rain.